


One More Overlooked Instance

by Lost_Girl_02



Series: One More... [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-adjacent, Developing Relationship, F/M, LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, Mix of Show and Book Canon, POV Multiple, Pod is a sweet guy but will be in major trouble if he ever hurts Sansa, Post-Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Girl_02/pseuds/Lost_Girl_02
Summary: Five moments after the Battle for Winterfell, five individuals who sometimes see, sometimes miss what is brewing between Lady Sansa and the Podrick Payne. Even in the background of events both large and small, there is a connection there that is sometimes overlooked.A look at Sansa and Pod's developing relationship from five different outside perspectives.Spoilers up through 8x04.





	One More Overlooked Instance

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so 8x04 was a lot, and so I wanted to change up the style for this installation of the "One More" series to get a wider perspective on everything that happened last episode.
> 
> This is still rated T but there will be some harsh language (when you see the POV headings it should make sense), not as bad as the show, but just thought I should give a heads up.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own GoT or else Braime wouldn't have been giving me so many feels.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

  **J O N**

* * *

The last time he burnt a pyre, Jon Snow was beyond the Wall and saying goodbye to the first woman he'd ever loved.

 _Kissed by fire,_ she used to call herself, always referring to her flaming hair, but he always thought her heart might be kissed by fire as well. That passionate fire that burned within her, that fueled her love, her hate, her determination, until a single arrow had struck her down, that fire snuffed out forever.

But back then, Jon was just a lone Night's Watchman, another bastard sent to the Wall because that was the only place in the world for those like him.

Now, he loved another that was kissed by fire in a different way. Daenerys' hair was as silver as the ice of the North, but her fire came from her blood, the dragon's blood that flowed through her. And now he was not  _Jon Snow,_ the bastard son of Ned Stark, but the heir to the whole bloody Seven Kingdoms.

He didn't want the damn title, he barely wanted the ones he has already accumulated throughout the years - Lord Commander, the White Wolf, King in the North - they all weighed heavily on his shoulders, but none more so than as the man who now had to burn the children who fought for the realm,

Jon looked at Lyanna Mormont's still body, the fierceness she was infamous for seemed to remain in the set of her jaw, her face pale in death. She had been the first to proclaim him King in the North, and he would never be able to repay her for her loyalty and her harsh counsel. He had heard how she'd died, and he couldn't help but smirk at the image of a girl, no more than two-and-ten taking down a being three times her size.

Tightening his grip on the torch, he looked around, the large pyres dotting the landscape, each representing hundreds upon thousands of the dead. His eyes softened as they landed on his sisters, each staring at the bodies in front of them. He had no doubt that they had seen death before, everything that had happened to them made it certain they had, but he didn't think they had ever had to send one they loved, someone they cared about, up in smoke.

Arya looked at Beric Dondarrion, her wounds from the battle clean, but her face was still bruised, yet she held herself tall, her expression never wavering in its stoic dignity. But he was sure there would be hurt in her gray eyes, because no matter what she had gone through...it never got any easier to have someone die for you.

With her red hair pulled into an intricate series of braids and tucked up off her neck, Sansa could have been easily lost in the crowd. She was no longer the stuck-up girl who didn't like him very much - they were at odds at times, true, but they had put to rest the animosity of their childhood. He remembered how she had wept over Theon Greyjoy's body, and as she looked down at their childhood friend, her face nearly crumpled but she managed to hold on to her resolve, staring at the point where she had placed the direwolf pin.

As Dany lowered her torch, the entire group of torch-bearers did the same, the pyres going up in smoke, taking the dead with them.

Unable to watch the little girl's body burn, Jon turned around, quickly striding back to his position at the head of the remaining Northern forces. Arya soon took her own place next to Bran, nodding curtly to the Hound as she passed, her face impassive as she watched the fires.

He almost missed it, but out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Sansa slow her pace as she passed by the Kingslayer and La-Ser Brienne. He had known his sister was close with the older woman, deferring to her opinion of Jaime Lannister when Brienne had advocated for him, but the way she now looked at her, as if for reassurance or support...it wasn't a look he saw on her face very often anymore.

Theon's death had hit his sister hard and knowing that he had saved her from Ramsay had been the main reason why he didn't execute the Greyjoy on sight when he arrived at Dragonstone. But, if it was any comfort to his old rival (friend, brother?) he hoped Theon knew that he had died a Stark. He would always be indebted to Greyjoy, for rescuing his sister and now for protecting his brother from the Night King.

But it wasn't until Sansa moved past Brienne, her smile turning towards the dark-haired squire who stood next to her, that he was thoroughly confused.  _Podrick,_ he remembered being introduced to the fumbling squire at Castle Black years ago. However, he didn't remember his sister being particularly close with the young man, the latter always turning an alarming shade of red whenever Sansa looked at him.

His attention was soon pulled away as Dany turned to leave, her own eyes bright with tears for her fallen soldiers, and for Ser Jorah. Jon thanked the man for protecting Daenerys from the wights and apologized that he hadn't been there to protect her himself.

All of the mourners soon turned around, filtering into the Great Hall, ready to drown their sorrows in wine and food and whatever else was left. Jon still was getting used to sitting in his fath...his  _uncle's_ place at the High Table alongside Sansa and Daenerys, but he couldn't well sit in the back and brood like he wanted. He needed to be a symbol for his men, for all the survivors that they could move past the atrocities and violence they had just witnessed.

Even through the crowd, he saw Sansa's distinct hair standing out from the rest and was surprised to see the dark hair and dented red armor of Podrick Payne right next to her. There was something  _off_ about the way they were standing, seemingly so close together, their heads were turned towards each other, but he could see the way her spine straightened, almost as if she was restraining herself from looking around.

He made a mental note to talk to the squire later, maybe with Ghost, to make sure he knew the truth of  _why_ Podrick Payne was standing so close to his sister.

At that thought, he couldn't help but let a somber grin tilt his lips for a brief moment, Ygritte's voice as clear in his head as the first day he ever heard it on that fateful excursion north of the Wall.

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._

* * *

**T H E   H O U N D**

* * *

He was used to his gruff demeanor and scarred visage putting people ill at ease, but in his entire life only two had managed to pierce the dark heart of Sandor Clegane.

The two Stark girls could not be more different - Arya had been a pain in his arse ever since he found her in that fucking cave, while Sansa had been the perfect picture of a queen at four-and-ten, a wolf hidden in silks and suffocated by King's Landing. Even when the silver-haired queen raised her glass to "the hero of Winterfell," he couldn't help but snort into his cup, the amount of wine dangerously low.

 _No fucking way that girl is around listening to these shits praise her name,_ he thought and with a quick glance around the room, he could tell that the little Stark girl was nowhere to be found.

He turned back to his own meal, practically snarling at anyone who tried to sit across from him. The Hound just wanted one bloody night to himself where no one wanted to talk to him about meaningless nonsense and an army of undead weren't knocking at their doors.

So, he drank and he ate and he drank again, making sure all the serving girls knew to pass him every time they got a fresh pitcher. The wine didn't do much to his head anymore - he'd been drinking for far too long for him to get drunk off the piss-poor swill the Northerners called wine. He wasn't quite sure how long it had been - that redheaded Tormund had been saying some pointless shit about...he really couldn't care less - but when he looked up, he saw the Lady of thrice-damned Winterfell herself sitting down across the table, a cup in her hands.

He knew it was no use to try and scare  _her_ away - it hadn't worked when she was four-and-ten so it certainly wouldn't work now that she was a woman grown. And frankly, Clegane wanted to know how the little bird had survived so long and outlived so many that wished to do her ill.

Even as she sat down, with all of the decorum and grace and whatever else ladies were supposed to have when talking to other lords and knights, but for a brief moment, he saw her eyes slide ever so slightly to the right.

Curious, he had never seen her gaze waver, not even in front of Cersei or an enraged Joffrey, and so he looked out of the side of his eye, tracking where her gaze had landed. Apparently, she was looking at a young man, a serving girl tucked under each arm. Clegane couldn't place the face, he looked like ever other fresh-faced green boy in the castle, but the Lannister red armor stuck out like a sore thumb among the grays and browns of the North, and the number of dents and scuffs in it meant it had probably seen some bloodshed before the fight with the undead.

He resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow at the openness in her eyes - and he  _barely_ resisted - forcing himself to focus on Sansa as she turned back, the blank mask in place once again. Clegane made sure to remember the boy's face, making a note to talk to him after the feast...for the boy's own safety. He wanted to make sure the boy wasn't going to get himself added to Arya's bloody list for breaking her sister's heart.

"She could have made you happy, for a while," her delicate voice said, and it took him a couple moments to remember that he had just refused the serving maid that had tried to proposition him.

He rolled his eyes and growled, doing such a thing was practically instinct at this point. "There's only one thing that'll make me happy." His brother's face flashed in his mind, the flames licking at the corners of his thoughts and the rage building in his chest.

"And what's that?" She asked calmly, clearly unfazed by his harsh tone.

"That's my fucking business," he bit back, the words coming out a little too harshly. He wanted to regret what he said, but whenever his thoughts turned towards his brother, most everything else faded away behind that haze of fire.

She didn't say anything but raised an eyebrow, a move her sister had pulled on him so many times. Not many could see through his bullshit like the Stark girls.

"It used to be you couldn't look at me," he deflected, looking away, unable to take her knowing gaze. He had seen her at the tourney for her father, the last time he really fought his brother, so she knew the brutal nature that defined every facet of his life. It was a dark day in all Seven Hells when little Sansa Stark was no longer afraid of him.

"That was a long time ago," she replied, her voice never shaking, and her blue gaze was steady. "I've seen much worse than you since then."

It was starting to unsettle Clegane, how calm she was being. The last time he had seen her, she was cowering in her bedchamber as he ran from the fucking fire that burnt the Blackwater. Some smaller part of him wanted to know if all of the rumors about her bastard of a husband were true, if he needed to find Bolton's ghost and kill him again. "Yes, I've heard. Heard you were broken in, heard you were broken in  _rough._ "

"And he got what he deserved. I gave it to him."

 _Of course she did,_ Clegane tried to hide a smirk. When her little sister had told him how the two girls had finally killed that bastard, Littlefinger, he felt a swell of pride - one that was quickly stamped out - as he realized the two no longer needed a protector in an old man like him.

"How?" He asked, genuinely curious what kind of punishment Ramsay Bolton was dealt that could possibly fit all that he had done to her.

"Hounds," came the simple response.

The irony was not lost on him, and he let out a laugh, picking up his drink. He realized that a hound could have saved her before she had to even meet Ramsay. "None of it would have happened if you'd left King's Landing with me. No Littlefinger, no Ramsay, none of it."

Sansa looked down, her face falling as she moved to place a hand over his. It still astonished him how gently she could touch someone like him so casually. "Without Littlefinger and Ramsay and the rest, I would have stayed a little bird all my life." She swiftly stood up, turning her back, her stoic strength clear in her body language.

Clegane watched her leave, her eyes flicking once more to the side where that dark-haired boy had been standing, her shoulders hunching only minutely before falling back into place. Ever the perfect lady.

Maybe he was going to have to find that boy a little sooner than he expected - Sansa didn't need him to put the fear of the Seven Hells in her potential lover or the Hound's protection, but he would be damned if he didn't make it easier on her heart.

He had seen her strength in that caged little bird he had tried to take away from King's Landing, and she never should have had to go through all of the shit she had gone through for the rest of the world to see that strength as well. Her courage was always more subtle than her sister's, but Sansa and Arya Stark had needed to learn how to survive ever since they left Winterfell, and he was damn proud of those girls for sticking it to all the bastards in their lives who had tried to break them.

Pushing back from the table, Clegane felt his muscles aching and he would never get the stench of rotting, fucking  _flaming_ corpses running at him out of his mind, but his body only needed to hold on for one more fight. The fight that mattered, the one he had been looking forward to since he was a child.

* * *

  **A R Y A**

* * *

Walking away from Gendry hurt less than she thought it would. She once would have followed him to the ends of the world, before he was taken from her and before she became something not quite human.

She wasn't a faceless man, but she wasn't content to stay in the North with her family forever. Arya Stark had unfinished business with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and she was going to cross the last two names off her list.

_Cersei._

_The Mountain._

Even though she knew that she could never sit in a castle and be a lady, not even for Gendry, she found herself standing in front of her sister's door, wanting to confide in Sansa. Her sister had always wanted to find a nice prince to marry, to be a lady, have little princes and princesses, and then her life would be complete. But she knew her sister had grown beyond that silly dream...but she was still her sister. She wouldn't laugh at her or judge her for her relationship (or lack of one) with Gendry.

Before she could really think about her actions, she raised her fist and knocked sharply on the wood.

Within a heartbeat, she was faced with her sister, her Tully hair in a simple plait hanging over her under-dress.

"You don't have some maid to answer your door for you?" Arya quipped, trying to settle into the newly found lightheartedness of their relationship. When she teased her sister now, it wasn't mean-spirited or cruel, but the easy banter between actual sisters who cared about one another enough to make fun of the other.

Sansa didn't reply, but just rolled her eyes and stepped aside to give her entrance to her chambers. "What are you doing here, Arya? I thought you would be with Gendry right about now." The last few words held a teasing lilt to them, meaning that Sansa had clearly caught wind of her relationship-not a relationship with the smith.

"That's why I'm here," she ground out, feeling her confidence waver only slightly before she forced herself to look Sansa in the eye, a challenge there.

She could kill the Night King and force her emotions deep within her whenever necessary but having a frank talk with her sister about her sex life seemed like an insurmountable task.

To Arya's relief, the older girl didn't say much, just climbed up onto the bed that used to be their parents' and patted the spot next to her like they were children sharing ghost stories much too late. Unable to find a reason why not, Arya climbed up onto the bed, boots and all, but she did let herself roll her eyes briefly at the position she found herself in.

"What happened?" Sansa asked, since there was no use dancing around the point. The two Starks no longer had to play that game with one another, they had finally learned to trust each other.

"Gendry asked me to marry him," Arya blurted out, although her voice was never raised beyond a whisper, her tone betraying none of the mix of emotions she felt - the hurt, the betrayal...the relief. "We slept together  _one time_ and now he's asking me to marry him!"

Sansa looked taken aback, and by taken aback, she might have blinked a few  times in quick succession and her lips were pursed into a thin line. "Is that so?" She said slowly, measuring her words. "And what did you...?"

"I said no, of course," Arya interrupted, flinging herself onto the mattress, her head hitting the soft pillows with a muffled  _thunk._ "He wanted me to be the  _Lady of Storm's End,_ you know that's not who I am."

"But it still hurts," her sister seemed to pluck the words from Arya's very mind, her voice becoming raw and when Arya looked up, it was obvious the mask of Lady had fallen. "You loved him."

Arya stared at the ceiling, trying to sort through all of the emotions stirred within her: vulnerability, affection, care, annoyance, friendship,  _kinship,_ and the pain was still there.

 _Maybe all of that adds up to love?_ She thought with a sigh, running a gloved hand down her face. "I think I still do," she admitted quietly. She had certainly loved him when he was the handsome older boy who teased her and fought beside her in the Riverlands. And she loved him when he was just Gendry the smith, making weapons for the Northerners so they might not die during the Long Night.

And she thinks she loves him even when she had broken both their hearts.

"If I became a lady," Arya continued slowly, "if I had said yes, I think I would have come to hate him as well as love him. Does that make sense?"

Chewing on her lip, Sansa shook her head, but there was a shadow of understanding on her face. Maybe her sister was not as unlucky in love as she had once been.

"It's like," she licked her lips, trying to come up with the right words to explain it all, "I think I still love him, but he doesn't quite know who I am. I was just a girl when we last saw each other, and he thought I was going to be a lady because I was  _highborn._ I would always be 'milady.' But he doesn't know all that I've  seen, he doesn't know what I've  _become._ I could never be happy shut up in a castle."

With a soft smile, Sansa reached over and grabbed her hand lightly. "That never was going to be you, was it?"

"No, I don't think so," Arya debated whether or not to take her hand back, and in the end, she settled for turning her palm so it lightly clasped Sansa's.

"That's fine," she replied earnestly, her clear blue eyes taking on a darker quality, "but...just know that you'll always have a place here in Winterfell. You'll always have a home."

A smile broke out over her face and she felt some of the weight lift from her heart with her sister's words. She was too nomadic for the kind of romance that Gendry wanted, too violent and too restless to keep a castle, too filled with vengeance to even have the chance of living that kind of life.

_Cersei._

_The Mountain._

Two more lives to end. Two more names left on her list.

But maybe, when she was finished, she could come back to Winterfell, be with her family after so long apart, and then leave to find a new purpose. Looking at the sincerity in Sansa's gaze, something she usually kept hidden behind the walls of ice and steel, Arya knew that no matter how many times she left, she would always have a sister that loved her and wished to see her.

She didn't need to say anything aloud; her sister already knew that Arya understood the meaning and care in her eyes, and it was nice to relax and be with her sister for the time being. She would leave in the morning with the Hound, and if Sansa didn't know of her plans...well, even if she did, it wasn't like she could stop her from leaving.

"What's it like?" Sansa asked rather loudly, a blush almost as red as her hair spreading over her cheeks.

Arya had an idea of what her sister might mean, but she couldn't help herself by drawing out her embarrassment a little longer. "What's what like?" She asked, her wide eyes and arched eyebrow giving the impression that she had no clue what Sansa was talking about.

"To...be with a man, consensually," she replied bashfully, and it pained Arya that she had to add the last word at all. Her sister was made of the North just as she was, but there was no doubt in Arya's mind that she would have died thirty minutes into being Cersei's prisoner.

It was sickening sometimes, when she thought about their stories too closely...how well-suited they were at surviving the traumas inflicted on them both. How they each had to learn to survive, just in very different ways, in order to make it back home again.

"Why?" Arya asked bluntly, still playing the fool, but she couldn't help a little bit of teasing creep into her tone. "Are you thinking of someone you want to... _you know?_ Is it a prince with golden hair and a pure heart?" She couldn't help but giggle, the Sansa she once knew certainly had a preference in the boys she fell in love with.

"Arya!" Sansa exclaimed in that exasperated big sister voice of hers, and shook her head, her eyes darting around the room, unable to meet the younger woman's gaze gave Arya all the answer she needed.

"Tell me about him," she dropped the teasing tone, hoping her sister wouldn't shut her out. Arya knew she was going to be terrible at this kind of women's talk - it was always something she saw her sister and Jeyne Poole discussing when they were older - but she wanted to at least attempt the conversation.

"Are you sure?" Her older sister asked almost shyly, her lips twitching in what could almost be described as a grin, but her eyes were guarded once again.

 _No._ "Yeah," she responded, hoping her sister would keep the gushing to a minimum. A girl could only endure so much.

* * *

**B R O N N**

* * *

_The North was living up to its reputation,_ Bronn shivered, stalking through the snow with Podrick fucking Payne to one of the taverns in Winter Town.

He had  _wanted_ to go to a brothel, but the younger man had turned an alarming shade of red and had protested so strenuously, Bronn had taken pity on the boy and agreed to going to a simple tavern.

There was nothing to do in the North except drink, so the sellsword took every opportunity to do just that. Thankfully, after the war was won, the wine and ale flowed freely, and the taverns and tavern girls offered a nice, warm contrast to the frigid country they called their home.

Thankfully, the tavern - the first one they came across - was warm, several fires burning throughout the small room, and the heat of bodies overpowered the chill that had settled under his very skin since arriving in the North.

"So," Bronn started, once a tavern wench had arrived, setting a pitcher of ale in front of the two men. He leaned back in his chair, his ever-present smirk on his face. "How's the North been treating Podrick fucking Payne?"

Something about the squire was...off. Pod looked him in the eyes - and he had used to terrify the poor lad - and he was able to look at some of the tavern wenches without blushing. He listened to the boy talk about the battle preparations and the fight, truthfully only half-listening to the actual words, paying more attention to what he  _wasn't_ saying. Bronn was a sellsword, and half of his job was learning how to read a man's body language - when he was going to lunge, when he was going to hesitate - and it had made him much more observant than many of the fancy lords who looked down on the likes of him had given him credit for.

When Pod said that he was getting better with a sword, finally, his shoulders straightened and he tilted his head up slightly, indicating that he was actually proud of his accomplishments.

And when he was telling the story of the undead's first attack, his eyes went dark as he looked at the contents of his cup and his jaw clenched ever so minutely...whatever he had seen, had terrified the lad.

It really made Bronn grateful that he was far away from the fuckers when they marched on Winterfell. He wasn't particularly thankful for the blonde queen's order to kill her brothers, but so far it was keeping him far away from either war, a fact he couldn't be more pleased about.

The two men drank and talked for a while, always carefully avoiding the reason that the sellsword was in the North. The boy still held a great deal of respect for Tyrion, and even for Jaime, and it would probably dissolve into a fight if they voiced the fact that Bronn originally came north to murder them both.

It was only when Pod avoided the inevitable question about if he had been putting his magic cock to good use, muttering some incoherent shit about not needing "that kind of sex," that Bronn had to look at the squire in pure shock.

"You fought the undead," the older man spit out, enunciating every word carefully to show his confusion. "You could walk into any whorehouse in Winter Town and have dozens of women hanging off your every word, you probably wouldn't have to pay for it again, and you just  _don't want it?_ And I heard that you're still quite the ladies' man, Tyrion saw you leaving that big feast after the battle with two women on your arm. I'd say you  _do_ want that kind of...relationship."

The boy's face just about turned the color of the Lannister flag, his eyes darting around the tavern, as if he was worried someone would overhear. "It's not like that," he protested weakly, his voice sounding strained and it wasn't until he practically flinched when one of the serving maids - one with hair a bit redder than normal - passed by, that a certain piece of information slid into place.

Taking a slow drink of ale, in order to hide his grin, Bronn wondered how he was going to get the squire to admit it. "You're still following that woman Jaime's been mooning over for years, aren't you?"

"Yes?" Pod replied, startled, like he wasn't expecting the question. "I'm her squire, but does that have to do - ?"

"And she's still stubbornly loyal?" He interrupted, ignoring the harsh look Pod sent his way at the dismissive nature of his tone.

"Yes," he bit out. If one hadn't seen Brienne the Beauty, or the way her and the Kingslayer looked at one another, it would have been entirely plausible to think that Pod was in love with the woman-knight.

"And is she still sworn to the Stark girls?" He finished, not even trying to hide his smile anymore when Pod flushed once again, for reasons Bronn would bet good gold on didn't have anything to do with his drink. And he hated to lose his gold, so he never bet on anything less than a sure thing.

"I don't...what does this have to do with - ?" Pod stuttered, his eyes scanning the hall once again, his hand flying to his wrist.

"You're in love with your lady," Bronn declared with a laugh. Of course Podrick Payne with the magic cock had to fall for one woman he couldn't woo with his apparent skills in bed.

"La-Ser Brienne?" He choked out, and whether he was deliberately avoiding the truth or truly didn't know who the sellsword was talking about, still had yet to be seen.

Rolling his eyes, Bronn decided to be a little less tactful. "Not the woman Jaime's fucking, you bloody idiot...you want Sansa Stark."

The declaration hung in the air for a brief moment as the squire's hands clenched into fists, a rush of emotions seemed to cross his face, from realization to annoyance to a rare flash of anger to acceptance. He dipped his head in silent acknowledgement, looking at the cup in his hands as if he was ashamed for falling for one of the most well-known beauties in all the Seven Kingdoms.

"I'm not judging," Bronn held up his hands, "everyone knows she's easily the most beautiful thing in this shithole of a kingdom. No one would think less of you if they knew you wanted to find out what she looks like beneath her skirts. Hell, I'm sure everyone else has already thought about it by now too. It's not every day they get to serve a lady that's unmarried but no longer a maid."

"Don't talk about her like that," Pod practically growled, that anger returning in a way that hardened his face, and Bronn realized he didn't look as young as he once did when they were in King's Landing.

Damn it, that must mean he was getting old.

Studying the boy's posture, the tense shoulders, the hands curled into fists, he realized that Pod didn't just want to fuck her, but he really  _was_ in love with the red-headed Lady of Winterfell. "No need to get testy, mate, I never said  _I_ wanted to know," he appeased, finding himself wanting to know more about how the boy came to fall in love with the Stark girl. There was nothing else to do in this absurd country. "Just, you should know you're not the only one who wants her."

"Of course I know that," Pod rolled his eyes, and Bronn decided he was a little proud the squire had grown a spine and an impudence since he had last seen the lad - maybe the sellsword's own attitude had rubbed off on him. "She's a  _lady_ and she's beautiful, I know I'm not going to be her only suitor, bu-but it's...different with us."

Bronn snorted, taking another sip of ale. If he had a silver stag for every time a man thought his love for a woman was "different" than the lust of every other man who laid eyes on a beautiful woman, he wouldn't need to take the crazy Lannister bitch's money to kill his...friends.

"We've kissed," the squire muttered, his eyes going once more to his hands folded on the table. Bronn practically choked on the ale, coughing as he sat up straight, leaning across the table as he looked for any sign that the boy was lying.

"You have not," he accused, because no matter how many different scenarios he tried to imagine, Bronn couldn't see the squire and the lady kissing...and he had a good imagination. But his words only caused Pod to flush even redder, nodding his head slightly, a slow smile spreading across his face.

 _That poor boy has it bad,_ the sellsword thought with an internal shake of his head. Money and castles were much more reliable than a woman's love in his experience. He opened his mouth, a thousand different, increasingly crude questions ready to slip off his tongue, when the younger man interrupted him with a sharp look.

"You can't tell anyone," Pod said pointedly, his voice was hard, but there was a hint of desperation in his eyes that reminded Bronn why the squire had endeared himself to everyone he met...even a grizzled old sellsword. At his core he was a good man, and he clearly didn't want to betray his lady love's confidence or disrespect her by talking about what she was like in bed in such an open space - though it was unlikely the young couple had gotten that far.

"My lips are sealed," he promised but a wolfish grin spread across his face, he knew exactly how he could leverage this new bit of information - there was no way he was paying for another drink as long as he was in the North. "As long as you pay for the next round."

Pod nodded gratefully, waving down the closest serving maid with a full pitcher of ale to refill their cups.

Bronn didn't break his word often, his loyalty could be bought, but he wasn't completely without morals. And unless the fact that a no-name squire was in love with the Lady of Winterfell turned out to be a prime military secret, he didn't see a reason to tell anyone this particular piece of information.

Except maybe for one person - there wasn't much else to do in the North, except gossiping with his old friend like they were two old fishwives and Bronn couldn't wait.  _The Imp will surely want to know,_ he thought with a grin...that would certainly make for an interesting conversation with the man.

* * *

**B R I E N N E**

* * *

Everything around her felt wrong. The fire cold, the empty room full, the silence deafening, the bed...Brienne couldn't bring herself to even look at the bed. She sat on the floor in front of the cold fire and stared into its depths, as if the Red Woman's fire god was real and he could tell her why she felt so empty.

Truth be told, she didn't need a fire god to tell her why the world seemed to have tipped off its axis: Jaime had left.

Ever since leaving King's Landing all those years ago to find the Stark girls, her days had a purpose. Find Sansa and Arya, survive, train, sleep, and do it all over again the next day. And once she found them, she had sworn another oath, to keep them safe from all who wished to do them harm. Honor had compelled her to prepare the Northern armies and to command the Knights of the Vale for the war against the Army of the Dead, but the war was over now. Arya hardly needed protecting, and Sansa had plenty of good men and women to advise and watch over her, the two Stark girls inspired so much loyalty and love in the North that it was unlikely either would face the need for protection much longer.

But that had left Brienne adrift in the world.

She could do her duty, keep her oaths, but it had been Jaime who had showed her how to live after the war. That there could be something outside of her vows that she could keep for herself, that could happen because  _she_ wanted it to, that...

 _It doesn't matter anymore,_ she commanded of herself. The tears had long dried on her cheeks, but her heart still ached as if a knife had been driven into her over and over and over again.

She could clearly remember the exact moment when something had shifted behind his eyes as he pulled her hand away from his cheek, the moment she saw him shut down, when he went away inside, the moment the words started spilling from his lips.

_I pushed a boy out a tower window, crippled him for life. For Cersei._

_I strangled my cousin with my own hands, just to get back to Cersei._

_I would have murdered every man, woman, and child in Riverrun, for Cersei._

It would have been worse if he had insulted  _her._ If he had spat at her, called her a wench or ugly or any number of insults he had leveled at her in the past. That would have hurt less than having to stand there in the snow and listen to him call himself hateful.

But the fact that she had been dwelling on for hours was that he  _hadn't._ He hadn't used her feelings against her - he knew every single one of her insecurities, but he never once cruelly threw them back in her face. A truly hateful man would have cursed her, mocked her, made sure she hated herself as much as she hated him... _but Jaime had only ensured that he was the one she was supposed to hate._

The Jaime she knew was capable of everything he said, it was true he had done awful things in the past, but she knew he was not capable of being a hateful man.

She had seen the good in him, and if she was honest with herself, as much as it pained her to think of it, there was some good in him still.

He had gotten his hand cut off to save  _her._ He had jumped into a bear pit, unarmed and one-handed, for  _her._ He had upheld his oath because  _she_ had held him to it. He had not slaughtered all of Riverrun because  _she_ had asked him to take the castle without bloodshed. The bad could not erase the good and the man that had looked at her with admiration as he knighted her could not have simply disappeared overnight.

But, no matter his reasons, he still left her in the cold, riding off to his doom, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her heart in tatters.

Although Brienne hadn't been crying for herself and her broken heart. It had been broken before, in the light of candles, a man she had once called king bleeding out in her arms, and a woman who was not a wolf by blood but one in nature pulling her away. But then she soon found herself caring for Jaime more than she cared about anyone else, much more than she had ever cared for Renly.

She never planned on loving anyone again, she was not made for it - her manner too brash, her body too masculine, her face too ugly - and of course, she had to meet Jaime Lannister and her heart betrayed her once again.

_We don't get to choose who we love._

When the tears finally fell, they had been for Jaime - he had been trying his damndest to break her heart and she had sobbed for him.

Not just because it hurt her to see the certainty in his green eyes that he truly believed everything he was saying, that he didn't believe he was the good man she knew he was. But because she had known if he left, he would surely die.

It wouldn't matter what she said to Sansa or even if she sent a raven to plead with Ser Davos and Jon Snow or if she sent another to Tyrion. He would be branded a traitor, stealing away in the night back to his sweet sister to tell her all of the North's secrets. Even if he killed Cersei and revealed the trick of his abandonment - something she desperately needed to be true - they would never trust him again. And when the Dragon Queen took the Iron Throne, she would demand retribution for his betrayal of both her and her father.

The second he left, every side would want his head on a spike, and he would never come back to her, never get to live a life free of being named a villain. One way or another, he would end up dead.

And he had left anyways.

She knew what everyone would be whispering when morning came, and Jaime was nowhere to be found - they were probably already calling her it.

_Kingslayer's whore._

It likely wouldn't be the first time she had been called that particular moniker - after all, she had worn Lannister gold at her hip for years, the lion's ruby eye glinting in the light, the Valyrian steel too fine for someone like her to have. Everyone must have wondered how she had paid for such a gift, and now she supposed she had.

_It's yours. It'll always be yours._

Too wrapped up in her thoughts, the pain in her chest radiating to nearly every one of her extremities, she didn't realize Podrick had entered the room until he was crouched in front of her.

"My lady?" He asked tentatively, his eyes scanning her face, taking in her hunched form, the robe drawn tight over her shoulders. "I  was knocking at the door, and I was worried when you didn't answer..."

"Ser Jaime has left Winterfell," Brienne stated, praying her chin did not wobble. It was the first time she had let herself say the words aloud and it was as if he was leaving all over again.

They had said goodbye too many times by now she should have been used to the sentiment. And every time they had to leave each other she had always thought it would be the last time she would see him...so why did it hurt so much more this time?

"Wh-why would he?" Podrick stuttered, his jaw dropping in shock. He quickly stood, his face hardening, and Brienne felt her spirits jump slightly at the idea that someone might be angry on her behalf. "I'll get S-Lady Sansa immediately, she'd want to know."

Brienne merely turned back to the fire, giving only the slightest of nods to indicate that she approved - she would have to tell the Stark girls sometime, it might as well be now.

It seemed like Pod had just left before she was hearing raised voices from outside the door, broken snippets of what sounded like an argument.

"...you should know..."

"...a girl waiting for you..."

"...not what you think..."

"...know more about men than..."

The voices abruptly stopped as her door opened once again, and when she looked up, he had returned with a similarly half-dressed Sansa Stark in tow.

"Podrick," she admonished with a shake of her head. "You could have at least given Lady Stark a moment to dress herself."

The girl was clad in only her sleeping shift, the light fabric was probably much too thin for the cold night air and her Tully hair was out of its normally elaborate style, hanging loose around her shoulders. Pod blushed as he looked at the girl, as if it was the first time he realized how she must trust him to let him to drag her out of bed in the middle of the night while she was hardly decent.

"It doesn't matter," Sansa waved her hand dismissively, sinking to the floor and somehow managing to look more elegant and dignified in her shift than Brienne would ever look in her life. "Pod said it was important...that Ser Jaime is gone."

"He is, my lady," the knight replied, slipping into the more formal way of address because it was easier to think of Jaime in that moment as a soldier who had deserted his post than a man headed for the executioner's block.

She had begged him to stay, to stay with her, to stay  _alive._ She couldn't lose him too, the one man, the one person maybe in the whole world, who truly understands her, who might even  _love_ her.

If his words had broken her heart, his death would shatter it.

"What do you think he means to do?" Sansa asked, the clipped tone of her voice indicating that she had slipped into being the Lady of Winterfell.

The door softly shut behind her, Pod quickly setting himself down as well, only a few inches away from Lady Stark. The older woman didn't miss the glance the two shared, questioning and icy and thoroughly filled with tension, but she didn't want to embarrass either by commenting on it.

What a sight they must be: a giant of a woman swathed in black, bright blonde hair in disarray, her cheeks likely still lined with tear tracks; a graceful waif of a girl clad in a nearly transparent gown, red hair reflecting the light of flames so it looked as if she was wearing the stuff; and a dark-haired boy, stripped down to simple breeches and a shirt, showing how young he still was, his face lined with worry and protectiveness.

"He's going to die," Brienne replied bleakly, and in her heart, she knew it was true. "He's going to Cersei." She forced herself to look Sansa in the eyes, sapphire blue meeting ice blue, and she saw the mask of Lady slip away as the latter saw the hurt that was threatening to burst forth. "I'm sorry...I couldn't stop him." The tears slowly leaked out of her eyes as a fresh bout of pain hit her.

She had gambled with her heart and she had lost. Now, all she had to do was pray that he lived long enough for her to call him an idiot and a fool and to tell him that despite it all she still loved him. She would always love him.

"It wasn't your decision to make, my lady. He would want you to respect his choices," Podrick said, quiet as always but with a steel there that had not been present when she had first met the boy. His hand went to a length of leather wrapped around his wrist, and she couldn't help but wonder why he had such a thing tied around his wrist or why Sansa looked at it with confusion and disdain.

Sansa's hand twitched, almost as if she wanted to reach for her, but Brienne was glad she restrained herself - the older woman didn't know if either was prepared for the emotional vulnerability that came with such an action. But as she stared at the young woman, the heartbreak plain on Brienne's face, she knew that Sansa understood all that she was trying to say. Jaime and she hadn't been particularly secretive about the new nature of their relationship and Sansa certainly knew since Jaime had initially decided to stay in the North.

"Brienne," she whispered, her voice soft and sympathetic, "you couldn't have known he was going to leave...that you would fall in..."

"We don't get to choose who we love," Brienne croaked out, the tears clogging her throat. The words Jaime had said to her years ago, back when she still hated him, when he was in love with his sister, and they were on opposite sides of a different war. The words he had said that made her realize he might have some honor left, because it was a lack of judgement fpr her taste in men, it was an unspoken apology.

They were words she had told herself when she slowly found herself thinking of Jaime Lannister more often, because she  _had_ known. She had known for quite some time that she was in love with Jaime, she just never let herself hope that he would feel the same for her.

"No," Sansa sighed, her eyes sliding to meet Podrick's, a weariness in her voice, "I suppose we don't."

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I hope everyone's POV felt in character, this was the first time I was writing for characters like Bronn or the Hound, so I hoped it didn't feel too OOC.
> 
> I know it was a little light on the Podsa in this installment, but I kind of wanted to see if I could mix up the tone and perspective to see how other characters might (not) perceive what they're going through.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading, and let me know what you think, don't be afraid to leave comments, kudos, etc. I love them all!
> 
> Another long A/N to follow, so if apologies in advance.
> 
> So, personally, I am not a huge fan of Jon/Dany, but it's a pretty big part of his character now, I felt like it would be wrong to not at least include it.
> 
> -That said, I wanted to draw that comparison to Jon/Ygritte, since the last time (I think) we see him actually burn someone is when she dies.
> 
> =And I really wanted to show the "you know nothing" part of Jon's personality we haven't seen referenced in a while.
> 
> I kinda struggled with the Hound's characterization, and ended up with protective murder quasi-father, so...*shrugs*
> 
> -Rewatching their conversation, I'm 99.9% sure Sansa looks right at Pod as he's leaving w/the two serving girls, so that was kind of the source of tension running through this fic.
> 
> -Even though in my little canon-adjacent universe of mine I don't think he would have slept with them, there needed to be a little conflict that will probably be brought up later.
> 
> Arya and Sansa...just Stark Sister Solidarity!! I loved writing that section because it's almost normal, two sisters talking about boys.
> 
> -Also, Gendry what were you thinking? The part about Arya following Gendry to the ends of the world is taken from a bts interview Maisie Williams did for the first S8 episode (I think)
> 
> -And I realized that Arya has now had consensual sex more times than Sansa and made myself sad writing that part.
> 
> Bronn was just ridiculous to write, but I wanted to have a perspective on Pod, since the first three all dealt with Sansa
> 
> -Tried giving him a bit of depth w/the observational skills
> 
> -Also totally want to believe him and Tyrion would still gossip about Pod before Tyrion left w/Dany and despite Bronn's mission.
> 
> Brienne's section was probably the hardest to write, just because dealing with that goodbye is so rough, it legit made me cry. Just so many Braime feels.
> 
> -I fully believe he was lying through his teeth at her, he couldn't even look at her at first, and what he was saying seemed so odd and stilted
> 
> -Brienne is actually called "Kingslayer's whore" in the books b/c of Oathkeeper.
> 
> -Also, the reference to Jaime "going away inside" was basically his coping mechanism when he was Aerys' kingsguard and had to watch all the messed up stuff the Mad King did.
> 
> -My interpretation of Brienne's mindset directly after Jaime leaving would be like someone had yanked the rug out from under her and she has to cope with the sharp change in perspective. I think we've all been there when someone breaks our heart and I think she'll be able to put on a brave face, but w/Pod and Sansa she doesn't have to. She can be hurt and vulnerable and heartbroken.
> 
> -I really really really want a callback to "we don't get to choose who we love" in the final couple eps, but w/Jaime referring to Brienne (he loves her and anyone who disagrees can fight be on that)
> 
> -I could go on and on about all the S8 Braime scenes but that would be too much.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who got to the bottom of this A/N or just anyone who read this fic in general. Please let me know what you think about the change in format/POV, if anything was OOC (but constructive criticism please), or if you just want to cry w/me over Braime!
> 
> Again, sorry it was a little light on actual Podsa, but I hope you enjoyed the hidden moments throughout, and there will likely be more in the next installment of this series!


End file.
